


The Legend of Dragoon: The Dragon Campaign

by Amudeus



Category: The Legend of Dragoon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2020-06-28 00:50:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19801285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amudeus/pseuds/Amudeus
Summary: The gladiators gather at a safe haven for human slaves.





	1. What is Born in Battle

Thousands of voices filled the air; Some quiet in conversation, others loud in jeering, more louder still in cheering. Cheering for blood. Human blood or animal, it didn't matter. To Winglies, the words meant the same thing.

But Diaz wouldn't give them the pleasure of seeing his blood. Or the blood of any of the men who stood behind him. If he could help it.

He forced the noise out. Focusing instead on the steady sound of his breath hitting the metal of his face-guard, and the sound of the men at his back. The sounds of armed and armored men from all of them, and the heavy breathing of a man gripped by fear from two of them.

Knowing they were afraid made Diaz worry about what they might do. They were new to his team. Freshly bought to replace his dead friends. Which made them as dangerous as whatever might come out of the gate across the arena.

Diaz didn't know how many years had passed since he had been new and afraid-the only slaves who kept up with time were children and parents. But he had learned what being distracted by fear got you. A bear had nearly torn off his arm, and if not for healing Wingly magic, he would have died. The healing had been like bliss flowing in his veins, and he never wanted to feel that again. Not for anything that came from the Winglies.

The two new men did worry Diaz, but he had three others at his back who had learned to trust him and follow his lead. If only that lesson was one that could be taught outside of battle.

The noise of the crowd died down, as every face turned to look at the throne. From the arena floor the throne looked like dozens of faraway undulating rainbows. But Diaz's owner had once described it as a massive circle of white marble with hundreds of veins filled with magically liquefied precious gems. The description was a reward for doing well and winning his master's bets.

The throne was meant to be occupied by the king of the Winglies, Melbu Frahma, who took great pleasure in watching slaves die. In his absence the magician Faust would speak from the side of the throne before every match. But strangely both Melbu Frahma and the magician Faust had lost interest in the matches, and anything else public, some weeks ago. Now it was some dignitary or another speaking words at the side of the throne before Diaz and his friends were supposed to die for the entertainment of the Winglies.

Whatever the words were, they were lost on Diaz. His whole focus was the sound of his breath, the sound of his men, the feel of his sword, the cool steel of his shield, and the gate across the arena. Out of necessity, that was his world.

The muted buzz became a dull roar, and the gate across the arena opened, letting out two female lions. Diaz felt the instinct to relax, and mentally quashed it. Two lions his men could handle -probably without serious injury-unless they relaxed. Relaxation in the arena was death.

The crowd jeered at the reveal of the lions, disappointed at the challenge the humans were facing, until an overly loud metallic thud echoed out of the pit behind the lions. The sound was obviously made louder through magic. All a part of the blood show.

From behind the gate came an almost human roar. Followed by the beast from which the roar had come. A minotaur.

Diaz hated minotaurs. He used to feel bad for them. With their gigantic mostly humanoid bodies he had thought they were like the gigantos. Much larger and stronger than humans, but dramatically less intelligent, and forced to fight and die. But minotaurs were far from natural.

The twisted bull headed race were the product of wingly magic experimentation. One of the few cross breeds they've managed to make that both lived, and wasn't sterile. But they were nearly mindless, bloodthirsty animals. Impossible to control beyond pointing them in the direction of things you wanted dead.

Diaz felt no pity for the minotaur about to die. All he felt was the worry of a man who respected the strength of his opponent.

Then Diaz heard the tinkling of water hitting metal. And under the circumstances he knew it wasn't water.

The lions made a wide circle around Diaz's group, one to either side, growling and snarling. One made a slight lunge toward the group, and swiped at the air, fifteen feet away. Then Diaz heard a metallic clang, followed by the sounds of running footsteps, followed by the sounds of a laughing crowd. One of the fools had run, and, almost as dumb, dropped his weapon.

"Edvin, if the fool makes an opportunity, don't miss."

Diaz didn't need the barked "Yes sir!" to know it would be done. Edvin was twice as strong as Diaz, but his real value in a fight was his accuracy with a thrown javelin.

The fool, Eithin might have been his name, ran into the corner of Diaz's vision, still watching the lion on the other side of Diaz's group from him. That is until he heard the other lion roar. Then he turned and raised the shield still attached to his arm. 

The lion reared up on her hind legs and swiped at the fool, catching her claws on his shield and wrenching his arm in a seemingly painful way.

Eithin's arm dropped to his side, then he fell to one knee. If he was in pain it didn't last long, as the lion then lunged at his neck with her jaws.

The other lion stared at the fresh kill, then seemed to sprout a four foot pole from her neck. Edvin had seen his opportunity.

Good. With one lion in its death throws, and the other teasing what meat it could from an armored body, they only had to deal with the minotaur for the moment.

The crowd jeered at the quick and unentertaining kill, but Diaz knew any excitement was still to come.

Since the minotaur had stepped into the light it had been swinging its club around wildly, sweeping the ground in front of it so no one could approach. It had probably been blinded by the sudden brightness, and had now adjusted to it. It stared at Diaz's group and made guttural sounds.

Diaz smiled, he couldn't help it. Minotaurs were much more dangerous when blind. Their stupidity made them terrible fighters, but their panic when vulnerable made them wildly unpredictable. He hadn't planned on approaching it until it had calmed down, and the timing was almost perfect.

"New meat!" Diaz barked.

"D-Ditlev, sir."

"Right. Stay at the rear and watch the lion. The living one, mind."

"The-the one eating my friend, yes." Ditlev sounded more resigned than bitter. He probably thought he and his friend were doomed to die the moment they were sold to be arena fighters.

"We live now, we mourn later. Listen to me, and you'll get through the first part. Right, men?" Under different circumstances Diaz might have expected ribbing instead of the three man "sir!" he received. No arena fighter felt like joking when another died. Even new meat. Even a fool.

"Harnan on left, Juskin right, Edvin behind me and to the side. Either side, just be ready to get out of the way. Ditlev don't go too far from us, but back up to the far side from the lion." Diaz gave the orders naturally, despite having had to change his plan after the fist lion died.

He heard the men moving about, obeying his orders, and then Harnan and Juskin came into his sight. It was time to lead.

Diaz advanced towards the minotaur, his shield held close to his chest, and his sword pointed at the beast. The beast's elongated hoof pawed the ground, so Diaz ran right at it. It was too early to let the beast charge.

Diaz yelled as he ran at the beast, anything to keep its attention squarely on him. The minotaur gave another roar somewhere between human rage and bestial fury.

The minotaur raised its club over its head, and just as it started to bring it down Diaz dived to the right, calling out "Harnan, arm!" as he did so. As the minotaur's club crashed onto the ground Harnan brought his two handed sword down onto the beast's arm. Everything about minotaurs was thick, their skin, their muscles, their bones, but Harnan was strong, and his sword was heavy, and it bit deeply into the minotaur's arm. By Diaz's estimate it hadn't broken bone, but it had at least cut, if not severed, a muscle.

Harnan didn't need an order to know he had to back out of the situation, or that the minotaur would certainly be focused on him. While the minotaur was grunting in pain and turning to try to grab Harnan with its free hand he gave one strong tug on his sword. And when he couldn't fully remove it he let it go and rolled backward, jumping headlong into another roll when he got his feet under him again.

The minotaur grasped empty air, and lost it's balance, falling on its hands as Diaz called out "Juskin, leg!"

With the minotaur's lunge to its right, it's left leg was stretched out making it the perfect target for Juskin's axe.

Many things happened in the following three seconds. The first was Diaz's gamble, calling out "Edvin eye!" hoping that the minotaur, without a more obvious target, would turn its head toward Diaz, giving Edvin an easier shot.

The second was Diaz's gamble paying off, with the minotaur turning its head just as it was supposed to. A perfect target.

The third and fourth things to occur were the things Diaz would never have doubted. Juskin brought his axe down below and behind the creature's knee, and Edvin's javelin took out the creature's left eye.

Diaz and Juskin backed away quickly as the minotaur roared and thrashed about, throwing Harnan's sword free, and ripping out Edvin's javelin. A sickening wet snapping sound came from the minotaur's arm as it swung its club in a wide arc, followed by it's club flying away, and its arm going limp beneath the elbow.

"Now, you bastard." Diaz said to the minotaur, right before the minotaur did exactly as he wanted it to. The minotaur lowered its head and charged at Diaz, using its good arm as a third leg for balance while charging.

Diaz waited until the minotaur was very close, almost too close, but that was the only way his plan would work. Diaz had loosened his shield earlier, and now he dropped it altogether and dived to his right. The minotaur's left hoof landed on the shield, and the smooth steel slid on the ground, causing the minotaur to lose it's balance, and its left leg to extend behind it, as it fell face first into the ground.

Diaz's sword wasn't as heavy as Harnan's two handed sword, or Juskin's axe, but Diaz was far from weak, and he brought his sword down, point first, on the minotaur's already wounded leg with both hands. Then he smiled, because he knew the sound of bones breaking when he heard it.

The minotaur roared in pain, and Edvin took the opportunity to throw his final javelin into its wide mouth. The minotaur made choking sounds, and thrashed about, before grabbing at the javelin with its one working hand. Too much to hope that it would just die when a normal creature would.

Knowing he stood no chance of extricating his sword, and knowing the danger of being this close to a minotaur, Diaz backed away towards where the javelin that had taken the beast's eye had landed, keeping an eye on the minotaur as he went.

The minotaur began struggling to get up, but with its right arm and left leg useless, it did little more than flop to one side. It was then that Juskin and Harnan reached it, bringing their weapons down on its neck from either side. It finally stopped moving.

Diaz ignored the crowd's cheering as he reached the javelin, and Ditlev ran up to him. "Th-that was amazing!" Ditlev said.

"This fight isn't over yet. Don't forget your orders." Diaz turned to see the lion crouched near the body of the fool. Diaz could've sworn he had remembered his name earlier, but now he had no idea what it was.

"Sorry, I just...I think the safest place is near you. Sir," Ditlev said. Diaz collected the javelin, took a deep calming breath, and readied himself to face the last lion.

"The safest place for you is the place I tell you to be." Diaz responded. "I told you at the beginning I'll keep you alive. Now, how long has that lion been crouching there?"

Diaz put no sympathy in his voice; though he did feel a little. The poor guy obviously had no preparation for fighting. But sympathy, and training, would have to come later. They weren't done surviving yet. At least that's what Diaz believed.

"Only since just before they killed the minotaur." Ditlev said. "She was...she was trying to eat around the armor." Ditlev sounded like he was about to sick up.

The lion suddenly stood, and began walking woodenly back to the gate from which it had emerged.

Just then a booming voice announced "No need to waste time on a boring and anticlimactic finale. My winglies, was that fight not entertaining?" He was answered by the crowd's roar of approval. "Did our victors not masterfully earn their victory?" More cheering and applause followed. "Then return victors! Return, so we may prepare for the next fight, and your great overloads may place their bets!"

Diaz looked up at them; the "great overlords." Already they had moved on. Already he and his comrades who had nearly died were forgotten. But Diaz knew he wouldn't forget. He wouldn't forget any of it. Every wingly owed a debt of blood. He didn't know if they'd ever be forced to pay it. But he would remember.

Diaz spat and turned toward the gate. He returned the javelin to Edvin, then Juskin returned to him his sword and shield. Together they walked out of the arena.

For today, Diaz was finished with the arena. But only for today. 


	2. At the Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gladiators gather at a safe haven for human slaves.

Slaves have no money, nor property. But those owed by the capital city of Kadessa itself, those that kept it running, had a neighborhood to themselves. The buildings were beautiful, everything was beautiful in Kadessa, but they were clearly separated from where the winglies stayed, and in a room where the poorest wingly would sleep alone, five to ten humans would sleep. And, of course, it was well out of sight of wingly traffic, and therefore, a long walk from anywhere a slave needed to be.   
But they made this place their own, in one way by clearing out the bottom floor of some buildings. And in these places they gathered, they shared, and they helped alleviate the pains of their life. And these places they called Hides, though no one quite knew why.  
One of the things freely shared in these places was a drink they had named sulka. They said it was a drink you couldn't drink until after you drank it. If you weren't used to it, it would burn like fire going down. But it numbed the pain, wits, and the sorrow of living their dreary lives.  
Another drink, not so freely shared, was created from honey, among other things. Honey was hard to come by on Kadessa, especially for a slave. So this drink was saved up for special occasions; A child's welcome to adulthood, and therefore first work assignment, weddings, farewells, and some events in the arena.   
Diaz sipped at the honey concoction, called simply hon, stewing over the events of the day. He didn't believe he had done anything to deserve hon today. But his men had insisted he had, the slaves who kept the hon had agreed, and he wasn't going to talk himself out of hon.  
And so Diaz sat at this table, with Edvin and Ditlev, sipping hon, while they took quick swallows of sulka.   
Harnan walked into Diaz's view, guiding some young woman he had no doubt convinced now was the perfect time for a romp-and who better to romp with than an arena hero-towards the back door. Juskin was sitting at another table, no doubt trying the same thing, but few slaves had finished their duties by now.  
Still, places such as this almost always had a few slaves in it. Though for the most part, the slaves here were those worked to the point of collapse in the morning.   
"...truly amazing." Ditlev finished whatever he had been saying. Diaz hadn't been paying attention.   
Diaz sighed. He didn't want to deal with the boy, or anything, at the moment. He wanted to drink his unearned hon, and forget the boy, the arena, and...  
But how could anyone forget the winglies? Their "great overlords" who tormented them, forced them to die for amusement and likened their very existence to that of an object. And not a particularly useful one, at that.   
Ditlev's voice interrupted Diaz's thoughts again. "And not a single injury! Well...I mean, except...you know." Diaz took a deep calming breath before his anger could bubble over onto someone who wasn't responsible for it.  
Then Diaz explained the situation to Ditlev. "The only reason there wasn't an injury was because of that boy's death. If one lion hadn't been eating him, and the other distracted by the easy meal not too far away, I promise you, someone would have gotten hurt. Someone probably would have died anyway. Never say we were lucky he died. But his death is a big reason it went so well for us."   
Ditlev seemed to deflate at hearing this. Then he, and everyone else, turned toward the door as it opened. It was a slave reflex. No wingly would ever be caught here. But as a slave, you learn to always be aware of your master entering a room because when your owner was near your existence was all about serving him or her.  
But no wingly would be caught here. The shame of being seen socializing with property would haunt them forever. Instead, it was Zieg who walked in.  
Zieg. The man was more a legend in the arena than Diaz. Zieg was right at six feet tall, same as Diaz, but it was all they had in common in appearance. Where Zieg had honey-colored skin Diaz was more pale, where Zieg had bright blue eyes, Diaz had muddy green eyes, almost brown. And finally, Zieg had blonde hair, to Diaz's dark brown.  
But the differences went further than appearance. Zieg had always been impulsive and hotheaded, charging at opponents with abandon. He didn't want to lead or be led.  
Diaz could appreciate Zieg's pure skill in fighting. He tore through almost any opponent one on one, even a giganto once, seemingly relying on instinct more than strategy. But Diaz had thought he would be the worst person possible to fight with.  
But there had been one occasion their owners, and several dozen others had joined their slaves to fight together. The fight of a century. One hundred humans versus a dragon. Most of the hundred had died that day. But Zieg had fallen in behind Diaz, and they had won the fight; Barely.  
Diaz nodded at Zieg, and Zieg nodded back before taking a chair at a nearby table.  
After the event with the dragon, Zieg had been sold to the arena. Which meant he would have fought consecutive battles one after the other until he died. But he had kept winning his matches, long past the time anyone thought he could. He had even slain a wingly, the only slave to ever do so. Granted the wingly had been a fool, who thought the arena was a good place to play games with deadly weapons. But most slaves looked past that without a thought.  
Zieg had been saved that day when a mystery wingly had purchased him from the arena. And after all, he had done that day, it could not have been cheap. But strangely the wingly had never sent him to the arena again. Many speculated he was used in secret as a trainer or as breeding stock, but Zieg never said who had bought him, or why.  
Regardless, since that day whenever Zieg came to a Hide, he sat alone for a time, drinking sulka, before joining someone else. Usually Diaz.  
Zieg had never said as much, but Diaz suspected he missed the arena, in some ways. You fought in the arena for the entertainment of the winglies, but surviving each fight was also a small act of defiance for the fighters. You deny the winglies your death and you were, in a very small way, for a very short time, free. Diaz would hate to lose that.  
"Ditlev" Diaz surprised himself by saying the name and pulling himself back to the present.   
"Have you ever been trained to fight?"  
"No," Ditlev replied. "I was used for farming."  
Farming. That figures. Bearnard would be upset. But of course, this was probably Diaz's fault.  
"Well you'll have to get most of your training in the arena," Diaz told him.  
"Just stick close to us and listen to Diaz, kid," Edvin told him. "Oh. And don't die. Do all that and you'll live to be a fine fighter."  
Ditlev smiled at what he obviously thought was a joke. "Sounds easy enough."  
"It won't be," Diaz said, cutting off the levity. "We'll get you as ready as we can, but you won't be able to sit back and keep watch in future fights. Sooner than you'll like, you'll be forced to fight something. And it won't be easy. It never is."  
"You wouldn't know that from watching your fights, Diaz," Zieg spoke from the table just behind Diaz. "Your fight with the minotaur today was inspired. One man dead and not a single injury among the living. Amazing."  
"Your owner made you watch the fight?" Diaz said as he turned around. And he immediately wished he could take the words back.  
Zieg put on a blank expression and looked at his table. It was an unspoken rule that slaves did not ask each other what they were forced to do. You never knew what another slave might have done, or how they might feel about it.  
Zieg looked back up and answered Diaz, "I saw the fight. I almost wish I had been there. I never got to kill a minotaur."  
"You would have charged right at it alone," Diaz said. "And that would have been a very different fight."  
"And all the more impressive." Zieg retorted.  
Diaz put up a hand in surrender. "If anyone could do it, Zieg, I believe you could." Zieg smiled and nodded in satisfaction.  
"He can't be that good," Ditlev said disbelievingly.  
Zieg then pushed his chair back, stood up, and walked around the table to Ditlev. Zieg placed his hands on the table and leaned in towards Ditlev.  
Ditlev glanced at Diaz then Edvin nervously. Diaz hid his smile.  
"Boy," Zieg said, pulling Ditlev's attention back to him. "You're right I probably would have died." Then Zieg walked back to his table and sat, taking a swallow of sulka as he did.  
As Ditlev took his first breath in about thirty seconds, Edvin and Diaz chuckled. Diaz was surprised he did. He didn't find many moments of levity. Maybe the hon was stronger than he had thought.  
"Don't let him fool you," Diaz told Ditlev. "He's a legend in the arena. He once killed a giganto in single combat. A minotaur may be tougher but I wouldn't be surprised to see Zieg win that fight. Of course, I wouldn't be surprised if the minotaur flattened him either."  
From behind him, Diaz heard Zieg comment, "You're unwavering faith in my abilities humbles me."  
"If he's really that good, then between the two of you we could beat the winglies." As Ditlev said this all the other conversations in the room stopped, and no one moved. It was as if everyone had been stopped in time.  
And Diaz knew why it had gone so silent. Slaves died for suggesting anything like what Ditlev had just said. And some slaves had been reported by other slaves.  
"Shut up!" Diaz put all the force into his voice that he could while maintaining a whisper. "We couldn't. No one could! And saying things like that could get you, and us, killed!"  
Ditlev went red in the face, then started stammering, "I-I didn't...What I mean-"  
"Zieg killed one once." Diaz couldn't see the man that had spoken. But whoever had was not being as helpful as he thought he was.  
Diaz cut that line of thinking off a quickly as he could. "That wingly was a fool! Most of them are not!"  
"An idiot who didn't know what game he was playing." Zieg agreed. But Zieg sounded distracted like his mind was somewhere else.  
Diaz knew he needed to stop this conversation now. It was too dangerous for everyone in the room. "We've all seen the wingly magic. They could crush us all without even exerting themselves. And they WILL if they ever even suspect we're talking about this."  
Diaz hoped that would end the conversation. But this was where arena fighters, and fans with too much fantasy and not enough sense in their heads came to drink. And if one thing was true about arena fighters, it was that they didn't give up easily. Damn arena fighters.  
"The dragons could match their magic. More than match it. It took over a hundred winglies to subdue the magic of that dragon in the arena. And they're at least smart enough to hate being slaves. And dumb enough for us to control!" This time Diaz turned to see the speaker.  
Helmer. The old arena fighter had always had more muscle than brains. Helmer was closer to five feet than six and looked nearly as wide as he was tall. Years of swinging a hammer big enough to cave in someone's chest could do that. The only hair on Helmer's head was his eyebrows, and they were always drawn down, giving him an angry expression. Even while he was singing merrily.  
Diaz had fought that dragon. Helmer had not. It was common courtesy among Arena Fighters not to comment on opponents you hadn't fought. And so, Diaz decided to set him straight.  
"They are not so dumb as you may think, Helmer. You weren't in the arena that day. That dragon knew our plans and reacted to them. And they would never listen to us. They respect only power. The only one they have ever followed is the Divine Dragon, their King. And he is tightly sealed away by the winglies."  
"Not so tightly." Every head turned to Zieg at his pronouncement. He looked left and right once, then continued. " I overheard my owner talking about it with another wingly. The other wingly said he had felt the dragon testing his restraints. Pushing at them magically. He said he was certain the dragon could break free if he tried. They wanted to petition Melbu Frahma to act on the matter. But he was too busy with his latest grand project."  
"What project?" The question came from somewhere in the crowd. And all conversation ceased. Zieg didn't look for the source of the high pitched voice, just kept his face pointed at his drink, but he looked hard at Diaz as he did.  
Diaz didn't know what to say. This whole conversation was fantasy. Worse it was stupidity.  
"What project?" The same voice insisted.  
"If you want to know go ask my owner!" Zieg snapped in irritation. "I don't feel like being beaten for minding wingly business."  
Helmer spoke up again, "So, we just need to convince the king of-"  
"No more!" Diaz roared. Everyone in the room seemed taken aback. More importantly, they were silent. "The only fight will be between me, and the next person who speaks of this."  
And then no one said anything. Everyone drank, or stared into their drink, in silence.  
And yet, Diaz couldn't stop himself from picturing it. Fighting the winglies. If he had to die, that would be the way he would choose. But he couldn't choose that way for everyone. And most wouldn't even be foolish enough to try it. HE wasn't foolish enough to try it.  
And yet...


End file.
